


What He Needs

by charis2770



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Cute boys, First Time, Fix-It, I REGRET NOTHING, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Serious dicking around with canon, Slash, So sue me I am not changing it, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-04 20:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1792708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charis2770/pseuds/charis2770
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This series was sparked in my mind by an Ask on my blog, bdsmfordummies-with-erwin-smith.tumblr.com who wanted to know what Jean needed sexually, as the needs of other Survey Corps members had already been discussed. Of course, the only answer in my mind to that question is, "Marco. Jean needs Marco." I hadn't decided how to manage it at that point, but I'm keeping all the characters I like for the blog, whether they're alive in canon or not, so I knew I wanted to work it out. Please forgive the massively rude rearranging of how things work in the SNK universe. I am well aware that some of the things depicted here wouldn't actually happen, but I'm not sorry!</p><p>A titan downed by several members of the 104th plus Levi reveals a terrible cargo as it dissolves. Jean loses it. Levi notices something and is pretty sure corpses don't moan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Resurrection

They’ve seen this one before.It isn’t anything they say. No one breaks formation or hesitates in the slightest. He can see it though, in the grim set of mouths, in the blazing rage in their eyes. Their battle cries as they storm it like angry small kittens on a full-grown tiger are for vengeance, not for victory.

It is over quickly. Their practiced moves slow the titan down. Giving it so many targets seems to confuse it. As its huge fish-eyes roll, trying to locate prey upon which to focus, four of them swing in for the kill. As always, Levi feels the exultation he always does as his blades bite deep into the back of its neck. Balanced on its head, Mikasa is only a fraction of a second behind him, Eren beside him on its left shoulder, and on its right, to his surprise, screaming in fury, Jean. He’s not sure whose blade finds the killing spot first, and doesn’t care.

They pause to watch as the massive body deteriorates, as they’re at the end of their patrol and headed for home and hot baths and food, a few of them cheering as it turns gradually to smoke and dust. As is often the grim case, the bodies and parts of bodies of some of its victims are left behind. Titans don’t digest their prey, it simply rots inside them. Or, horrifically, when swallowed whole, starves to death slowly.

As he turns to go, to call them  to withdraw, something catches his eye. A bit of embroidered patch on a brown jacket, leather straps. One of their own then. Well, they’ll retrieve the boy, take it back for a hero’s funeral.He waves his arm for their attention, but without exception, their attention is riveted on the still form on the ground.

"Oh God," whispers Eren. There’s a ragged cry, and Levi looks on in stunned horror as Jean stumbles across the ground. He falls to his knees beside the body and takes it tenderly in his arms, cradling it close.

"Marco," he cries, grief in every line of his body. Levi recognizes the name, has heard the other speak of him. How he died in the attack on Wall Maria, how the best of Jean died with him, how they’d gone to retrieve his body and it hadn’t been where it had been seen last but that they’d found what they believed was Marco’s corpse and taken it back to be burned along with all the other victims. Apparently, if the others are to be believed, and he does not doubt them, Marco was instead taken and swallowed by a titan after falling in battle.

"Let’s take him home," he says quietly. They’re vulnerable here in the open. He sends a few of them for the horses, and stands guard over Jean as he weeps into Marco’s hair.

The horses return, and he leans over to put his hand on Jean’s shoulder, to tell him it’s time to go. As he does so, Jean clutches Marco closer and Levi’s eyes narrow, then widen in disbelief.

"Put him down," he orders curtly. Jean doesn’t listen. Levi slaps him hard on the back of his head. "Put him the fuck down, I say," he yells angrily, "or you’re going to kill him!"

Jean stares dumbly up at him uncomprehendingly. Levi can’t believe it either, but in the moment when Jean had clutched Marco protectively closer, Levi had heard a tiny sound that Jean, in his agony, had missed. A tiny groan from the corpse’s lips.

"Jean," screams Levi, furious at how stupid and slow he’s being, "Put! Him! Down! Marco is ALIVE!"


	2. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco lies in a coma, with Jean faithfully by his side every moment he can spare. No one knows if he's going to wake up or not, but Jean keeps talking to him, hoping Marco will hear him and come back to him.

The doctors have a lot of theories. They talk about them all the time. A lot of people he supposes are part of the government, as well as ones he knows are part of the military, come in and talk to the doctors. Some from the Military Police. He doesn’t show the chill of fear they give him. He knows nothing of politics, and has never cared, but he knows the M.P. had wanted to kill Eren, and he knows that Erwin and Mike and Levi have some thoughts on why, but they haven’t shared them.

He _knows_ Marco’s presence here, indeed his very existence, is incredible. Unbelievable. He remembers seeing Marco that day covered in blood, his face disfigured, crumpled, staring blindly and fixedly and looking very, very dead. How he wishes he’d taken the time to stop and check his pulse, but everything had been happening so fast, and if he’d stopped, he would have been killed. They’d been so sure it was Marco’s body they’d brought back and burned. He has no explanation for how his friend survived. Maybe he has some of what makes Eren do what he can do, what made Annie do what she did…well, except she would have killed them all and Eren mostly tries to help them. So maybe Marco’s different too, but Jean doesn’t care. Maybe it’s just because he was comatose and so his body’s metabolism slowed down so much that he didn’t die of starvation before he even had a chance to regain consciousness. Maybe, as some have speculated, his body absorbed some…he shudders…fluids…while he was in there, inside that monster.

The reason doesn’t matter to Jean. He only cares that Marco is here, now, lying so still and silent and pale. His freckles stand out startlingly against the pallor of his face, almost like a smattering of gunpowder. There’s a long tube sticking out of his mouth, disfiguring it, stretching his lips oddly on one side. It leads into his stomach, where they are pumping a nutrient-rich liquid nourishment several times a day, because Marco hasn’t woken up long enough to eat on his own yet. Jean isn’t stupid. He knows it’s as likely as not that Marco will never wake up. Some of the medicals who talk about him have murmured things about keeping him alive for study even if it’s determined that his brain is too damaged for him to recover.

Though the thought makes Jean physically ill, he swears grimly to Marco when they’re alone that he will not let that happen, even if he has to…do it…himself. Marco wouldn’t want it. He knows Marco would do it for him, if the situation were reversed.

He only leaves Marco’s side when they make him. Erwin, for all that he may be kind of stuffy when it comes to appreciating Jean’s sense of humor…come ON, it’s not like he was REALLY gonna make those new recruits WEAR the horsetail plugs, geez….but Erwin understands. He order the infirmary staff to let Jean use the bed next to Marco’s, and to keep it empty for him. Jean has to fulfill his duties, but he knows damned well that the Commander has shaved down that list until Jean’s responsibilities are minimal in the extreme. Thus, he is nearly always by Marco’s side. When they’re alone, especially at night when the infirmary is quiet, he talks to him. After he’s done recounting all the unbelievable things that Marco’s missed, most importantly that Eren is a titan shifter, he moves on to tales of a more personal nature.

“So yeah, you’re gonna be in for a surprise when you’re back in action, man. I mean, if you decide to stay here with me. In the Survey Corps. If you decide to go Military Police like we talked about, that’s cool. I mean, I won’t try to make you. But I know you, and I think you’ll choose here. So yeah. Erwin…Commander Smith…he’s like nobody you’ve ever encountered. Know how in training we’d have to like, run laps and do KP duty and extra PT when we got in trouble? That’s not Erwin’s style. Nope, not him. He BEATS us! Yeah yeah, I know what you’re thinking. I mean, all the garrisons have those stocks or posts or whatever in the assembly yards. But no, not like that. He calls people to his office and they gotta bend over his desk, bare assed, and he whips em! Like when you’re a kid and your mom or dad spanked you for fucking up. He’s fuckin’ strong as hell. It sounds stupid, but I mean he can whip your ass HARD. Not that, you know, I can’t take it. I totally can, of course”

Or….

“So get this for wild shit. You know Armin Arlert, right? Little guy, not very strong, cries a lot? He’s…um…seeing someone, I guess? Has a boyfriend! And guess who it is? You remember that weird guy who sniffs people all the time? Mike Zacharius? He’s Erwin’s Second, Yep, it’s HIM! I mean, he’s like six and a half feet tall! Armin’s like the shortest person in Survey Corps except for Christa, and Mike’s one of the biggest. They look really funny together. Armin though…he seems really happy.”

Then, finally…

“Marco. Everything’s been fucked up since you…left. I can’t seem to find my balance. I’m pissing people off, but I don’t know how to STOP. It’s like part of me inside my mind is watching me do shit, and going, what’s wrong with you, stop it. But I can’t. I…I hit on poor little Armin. Like, a lot. I don’t know why. I don’t even WANT him that way. I scared him. I know I did. Erwin found out. He…he used this thick leather strap on my ass. So hard. I didn’t want to, but I cried. Damn, he’s fuckin’ strong. Then…a couple weeks ago…I found these decorative horse tails that I think went on helmets or something…and this…this um….plug thing? And I stuck the hair on, and it was like…like…a horse tail ass plug. Oh god, it looked funny. So I tried to find someone I could make try it out, you know? And of course Commander You’re Not Funny at All Jean found out about THAT too and I…I had to go back to his office again. Yep. For more of that fuckin’ strap. It’s…God, it’s so embarrassing. He makes you pull down your own pants. Asks if you’re fucking ready! Ah, Marco, he hits so hard. Full force, right across your bare ass, just over and over again until you can’t just grit your teeth anymore. Until you’re…you’re actually sorry. SO fuckin’ sorry. And you cry, like a baby, and you promise never to do it again, if only he’ll stop.”

“I’m going to….have to….try that.”

Jean lifts his head slowly. He’s tired, so he’d lain his head on his folded arms on the edge of Marco’s mattress, just rambling away to him, not thinking too hard about what he’s been saying. The voice is hoarse, barely recognizable from disuse and pain and weakness, but underneath it is still….just….recognizably the one voice he loves most in all the world. And he’s not positive, but he’s pretty sure the first words out of Marco’s mouth upon awakening from a coma were to threaten to spank him. Which is absolutely ridiculous, but then he’s looking into Marco’s sweet- natured face and Marco’s mouth is quirked sideways with his crooked smile and his brown eyes shine down on Jean just the way he remembers and he doesn’t care. Marco can beat the shit out of him every Goddamned day if he wants, if only he will keep on looking at Jean.

“Marco,” he whispers, hardly daring to believe what he’s seeing.

“Just you…wait til I’m better,” says Marco slowly, laboriously, smiling luminously at Jean as he concentrates hard on getting the words out. “Then if you…ever….EVER…chase after anybody….else….I will…..whip you so hard….you won’t….sit for days.”

Jean gets a funny feeling in his belly when Marco says this, shocking himself almost….but not quite…speechless. Because he’s always been so sure that when he and Marco finally…that it was going to be him who pitched, but the way Marco’s saying this shit to him…it’s startling and strangely hot and he can’t stop himself from imagining _Marco_ in Erwin’s place, with him bent over…but naked this time…his bare ass red and raw and covered with welts from Marco’s belt while Marco…sweet, gentle, soft-spoken, cheerful Marco…lectures him sternly and blisters his backside while he begs for mercy. But it’d have to be for some other reason than what Marco’s talking about, because…

“Marco,” he whispers again, his voice thick now with the tears that crowd the corners of his eyes, “There’s never been anybody for me but you.”


	3. Heat of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Marco has awakened, both boys are eager for him to get out of the infirmary. The doctors are cautious, so they try to make the best of it. 
> 
> And deep in the night, Jean is awakened by a sound...

Marco starts to chafe at the inactivity quite some time before the doctors are willing to consider releasing him. It isn’t that he complains (Jean would) or acts like an ass (Jean would do that too) or seems ungrateful (And also that). But he asks them, patiently and politely, when he’ll be able to go home, every day. The answer is always the same. “Soon.” Then Marco sighs softly and slumps back against the pillows.

Jean tries to help, but he’s dying for Marco to be released too, so more often than not, he just commiserates. And talks a lot. Even though a long damned list of crazy shit has gone down, he’s still repeating himself after a week.  Marco claims he doesn’t mind, but his eyes do occasionally glaze over a little. Marco always has been a better person than he is.

The better Marco feels, the more difficult it is for him to maintain his patient, polite face. Jean’s just so relieved to have him back that he’s startlingly short on the uptake. Very late one night, he is awakened by something. He opens his eyes, instantly alert. That’s a skill they all learn, because they never know when a summon to arms will come in the middle of the night. He’s not sure what actually awakened him, so he lays silently in the dark and listens intently. He doesn’t want to wake Marco is he’s sleeping. After all, it might have been nothing.

It wasn’t. In the bed next to him, Marco moans softly, no more than a tiny thread of sound. Concerned, Jean tenses his muscles to leap from the bed and to his boyfriend’s side. The scars on Marco’s body have healed, but maybe they haven’t all healed _well._ The sound comes again and Jean’s eyebrows go up in surprise. It’s not a pain sound. Not at all. At the end of the next quietly exhaled groan, Jean hears Marco whisper earnestly,

“Jean…oh…ohh…”

He turns his head to the side and looks. There’s not much light, but he can still make out Marco’s features, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, hands clenched in his bedding, his hips rolling softly as he bites his lip. Oh god. He’s so beautiful. Jean slips from the bed as quietly as he can. There’s only one step between his bed and Marco’s, and he’s on his knees beside the bed, not giving himself time to think about what he’s doing or wonder if a nurse is going to come in and see him. His hand slides between the cool cotton sheets and encircles Marco’s erection before Marco has time to do more than open his eyes and gasp in shock.

“Jean, I…I’m….you don’t have to….oh _God,_ ” whimpers Marco, struggling a little, pushing at Jean’s wrist ineffectually because it’s pretty obvious he doesn’t actually want Jean to stop, especially when Jean starts to slowly move his hand up and down, letting the velvety soft skin of Marco’s cock slide along the marble hardness of his helpless arousal.

“Shh. Let me,” whispers Jean, bending so his head is close to Marco’s ear.

“Someone might come in,” hisses Marco frantically.

“Then we’d better hurry,” breathes Jean into the reddening shell of Marco’s ear.

“Oh…oh shit…that feels so good,” gasps Marco, hips rocking up to meet Jean’s firm strokes.  He doesn’t think about what he’s saying, he just opens his mouth and lets the words come, not considering what he’s revealing, how much power he’s handing Marco with them.

“Think about how it’s going to feel when you’re finally fucking me,” he says, his mouth dry with the exhilarating terror of the thought. Marco gasps. Jean huffs out a soft laugh and grins ruefully. “Always thought it’d be the other way around,” he admits, rubbing the ball of his thumb over the slick fluid leaking from the tiny slit at the head of Marco’s rather impressive erection.

“It was…never going to be the other way around,” says Marco a little breathlessly, and yet Jean’s belly still clenches hard at the certainty in his voice, the calm assurance that he’s going to own Jean’s ass one day pretty soon.

“I guess not. You’re gonna do it, yeah? Soon, Marco. It’s gonna be so good.”

“I’ll try to make it good for you too,” whispers Marco.

“It will be,” Jean assures him. “Cause it’s you. Oh Marco…damn…I really want you to. Want you to put your cock in me. Up my…ngh…up my ass. So fuckin tight…. _fuck fuck fuck…._ It’ll hurt some I guess….make me whimper for you….will you like it?”

“Christ,” whispers Marco feelingly, bucking up into Jean’s hand. “Yeah. Gonaa…shit, Jean! Don’t stop. Just like…hah…like that. I’m gonna come soon.”

“Yeah, I want you to.”

“Touch yourself,” says Marco, his voice suddenly whiplash sharp. Jean doesn’t even think about it, he just does what he’s told, and it is only AFTER he has his aching cock out of his cotton shorts and gripped tight in his fist that he realizes how quickly he’d obeyed the order. It makes him feel dizzy, realizing how completely this sweet-natured, patient, kind and suddenly bewilderingly commanding  young man _owns_ him. “That’s good,” sighs Marco, his fingers lifting up to softly trace the line of Jean’s jaw and into his hair. “You won’t always be though, yeah?”

“I don’t guess I will,” pants Jean, concentrating on keeping up the rhythm of his strokes on both their cocks.

“Think I’ll do what the commander does when you’re not,” gasps Marco, his hips rocking faster. “S…spank your ass like you’re a bad little boy. Hard. Make you….hngh…make you yell and beg me to stop…”

“Jesus Marco,” hisses Jean, cock pulsing in his fist at the outrageous words.

“Make you _cry,”_ growls Marco softly, body arching as he comes hard in Jean’s clutching hand, ropes of viscous white painting Jean’s knuckles and his own belly and the sheet. Jean presses his face to the mattress and groans helplessly as his own spend spatters the floor beside Marco’s bed.

They stay there, frozen in a tableau of lewd, illicit pleasure which they’ve stolen in the dark of the night, connected and panting, their hearts hammering, staring into one another’s eyes in wonder and shy happiness.

“I love you,” whispers Marco.


	4. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco becomes aware what a very, very bad boy Jean has been while he's been gone, and wants to hear every. Last. Detail. Jean's helplessly turned-on by this new and strangely dominant Marco and finds himself obeying in spite of himself.

After a short meeting with the Commander, Marco is accepted into the Survey Corps. He’s already been brought up to speed on the things that have happened since the attack on Trost. Multiple times. By everyone who visited him in the infirmary. There’s not a choice for him really. Jean is here. This is where he belongs. That most of the his friends from training….and he tries not to think about how few of them there are left…are here, and he likes Smith unreservedly. He’s a good commander, and it’s clear he cares very much for his troops. Although the concept of being subjected to corporal punishment if he fucks up is decidedly strange, he doesn’t really have a problem agreeing when Erwin informs him of that particular condition. Marco’s not a troublemaker. He seriously doubts he’s ever going to find himself bent over the Commander’s desk. He is, however, terribly interested in the whole concept, and in hearing every single sordid detail of Jean’s experiences in said position.

Jean refuses to share.

“C’mon, Marco,” he says, ignoring the fact that there’s a distinct whine to his voice. “It was….I was fucked up, okay? Nothing was right without you.” His cheeks flush at the admission. He doesn’t DO this. Doesn’t show his vulnerabilities this way. No, he hides them under jokes and sneers and sarcasm. Er. He means he’s _not_ vulnerable. “I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t really that bad, Erwin’s just a hardass. Let’s talk about something else.”

Marco….sweet, soft-spoken, gentle Marco….the boy he’s thought about for so long he can’t remember when it started….shy and kind…who he has dreamed of taking to his bed since their first kiss two years ago….smiles. Jean relaxes and smiles back. That’s why he’s taken completely by surprise when Marco slaps his open hand against his chest and shoves him up against the wall, leaning close to whisper in his ear, pressing his hips against Jean’s so that he can feel Marco’s erection rubbing against him. He gasps and bucks against the confinement. Marco’s hand slides up his chest to gently wrap around Jean’s throat, holding tightly enough that Jean has to struggle just a little to swallow. Or maybe it’s that every ounce of spit in his mouth has dried up at the sudden, dizzying _need_ that flushes his body with heat.

“I don’t think so,” breathes Marco softly into his ear, his warm breath tickling and making Jean shiver. “I think you’re going to give me what I want, Jean. You’re going to tell me how bad you’ve been, every bit of it, and do you know why?”

“No?” pants Jean breathlessly. Marco’s thumb moves, softly stroking the place where Jean’s pulse throbs thick and hot at his throat.

“Because I’m not going to fuck you until you’ve told me all of it and I’ve decided how to deal with you.”

Something clicks in Jean’s throat when he swallows. His eyelids flutter closed and he moans softly.

“C-come on Marco! Smith’s already…you know…p-punished me for all of it.”

“Mm,” muses Marco, and steps back suddenly. Jean staggers a little and yelps in surprise when he finds himself spun around and forced back against the wall face first this time. Marco crowds against him again, one forearm pressed against the back of Jean’s neck, the other hand cupping the curve of his ass. “But you didn’t get what you needed from a single one of those punishments, did you?”

“What the….ngh….what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Love,” whispers Marco. “Erwin doesn’t love you. He didn’t make you feel…cared for. Forgiven. Clean. But I will.”

Jean opens his mouth to sneer, to say something snarky about the likelihood of Marco beating his ass being able to do all _that._ What comes out is a soft whimper instead.

At least Marco lets him ( _LETS_ him!) wait until it’s dark and they’re in bed. In bed together, their legs tangled under the sheet. Jean blushes and stammers and hides his face and he tells Marco all of it. He doesn’t know why he’s been such a little shit, except that he thought he’d just shatter into a million tiny shards of howling misery if he allowed even one person to see the things that really went through his head all those months when the very best of him was gone. Besides, he’s suddenly within sight of actually losing the virginity he’s been telling everybody else he lost ages ago….well, granted, he’s been bragging all along about all the people he’s fucked, but this is for real and he’s as eager as he is terrified. There is, unfortunately, rather a lot to relay to his resurrected and astonishingly resolute boyfriend. And some of it is pretty embarrassing, like the incident with the horse-tail anal plugs and the new recruits he’d terrified with them…along with poor innocent little Armin. Who is not so innocent anymore and walks around with a gleam in his pretty china-blue eyes and a spring in his step these days and all too often looks like a cat (maybe a kitten) who’s been in the cream. Jean’s slightly scandalized that Armin Arlert managed to lose his virginity before him! He gets points for taking it from Zacharius though. That man’s the size of a fucking house.

Thus it is that he realizes he’s not going to get finished relaying his shame to Marco in one night. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he tries not to squirm against Marco’s leg where his dick has been ahead of the game for a while now in anticipation of the actual act when Marco makes him stop because it’s getting pretty late.

“Marco,” he whines softly, his face pressed into the pillow, butting his head against Marco’s shoulder. The shoulder shakes a little with suppressed mirth. “It’s not funny,” he mutters sullenly.

“Are you going to be able to finish your confession tomorrow night?” asks Marco softly.

“Yuh,” mumbles Jean, still hiding his face.

“Then I promise you don’t want to make me punish you tonight, because you’re getting your ass blistered before I take your cherry tomorrow night.”

Jean makes an inarticulate sound and writhes a little. Marco huffs out a soft laugh and turns on his side to face Jean.

“I said I wouldn’t fuck you til you’d told me everything,” he whispers, and Jean shivers a little as if the warm sound of Marco’s voice going deeper with arousal were soft fur rubbing against his skin. He cries out in surprise when Marco inches closer and his fingers close around Jean’s prick and oh…oh he’s holding both their cocks together and the skin of Marco’s cock is soft as velvet and so warm and the slick of both their need makes them glide smoothly together and through Marco’s strong, firm grip. Jean groans in agonized pleasure and Marco laughs again, a little breathlessly. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to let you come til then,” he finishes.

“Oh God,” says Jean.

“Such a bad boy,” purrs Marco in his ear, his tongue brushing along its rim.

“Ngh,” says Jean.

“Wh—-what should I use?” continues the beloved voice, and Jean’s glad it’s dark because his eyes prick with tears as he is suddenly swamped by the realization that Marco is really here with him and still wants him, still loves him, even though he’s been a complete asshole. Then he rolls his hips and whines softly at what Marco’s saying because Jesus, where did his sweet, innocent boyfriend learn how to do this shit? He’s wrecking Jean with just his voice and he’s only getting started. The hand encircling their erections slides firmly up and down and he keeps talking.

“What?” slurs Jean because the hand on his dick has knocked him back a couple dozen IQ points.

“To punish you,” grins Marco unhelpfully. “A strap? DIdn’t you say that was one of the Commander’s favorite things to whip you with? Or maybe I’ll make you go and cut me a switch just like I know your Daddy used to do when you were a bratty little kid? Would you like that? Sent out in the night with your cock hard and aching to cut the very thing I’m going to use to wreck you? Maybe a nice sturdy hairbrush. Paddle your ass til you cry? Huh?”

“Marco,” whimpers Jean, shocked.

“I’ll finish with my hand. Let my fingers slip between your bright red asscheeks between smacks. Touch you between your legs where you’ll be so hard for me, even after you’ve been spanked so hard?”

“Marco!”

“You gonna….ah…come thinking about it? Oh Jean…you feel so good like this. God. I’m so close, thinking about doing it to you. Thinking about fucking you. You’re gonna scream.”

“Marco. Fuck. _Fuck!_ ” Jean pants. “Y-yeah, I am. Oh god. Oh god. Marco!”

“Now,” hisses Marco between clenched teeth. “Now, Jean. Come.”

Jean can on occasion be very obedient indeed.


	5. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean realizes that the times he used to hate the worst...getting up in the morning and going to bed alone at night...have now become the times he loves the most. But he has no idea how he's going to make it until bedtime on THIS day.
> 
> And a short run to help Marco start to get back in shape turns out to make it even harder.

For months, Jean has dreaded nightfall more than any other part of the day, followed by the moment in which he awakened each morning as a very close second. That moment his eyes would open and his brain would be blissfully blank, perhaps his mind filled with the receding images of dreams of Marco; his sweet face, his voice, his hands ghosting across Jean’s skin. That moment when the dreams turned to ash and he remembered that he would be facing yet another day in a world where Marco had died and left him all alone. But the long hours of the night were worse, staring blindly at the wooden beams of the bare rafters of the small cottage he’d managed to scare enough roommates out of that they didn’t try to make him share it with anyone anymore, unable to sleep, alone with his loss and grief. 

 

When it rained, he’d remember how Marco had always said how much he loved the sound of the rain on the roof and the fresh smell of it coming through the open windows when it was warm enough to leave them open. When the crickets or cicadas sang in the trees, he’d recall Marco sleepily wondering what they were saying to each other, and that it sounded like they were singing and he wished he knew the words to the song.

 

This morning, Jean blinks lazily as he opens his eyes on another day, blessing the last few moments of mindlessness before his loss crashes back in on him. Except instead, Marco sighs in his sleep and his face nuzzles closer to the warmth of Jean’s neck and his breath tickles and what crashes in on Jean instead is that Marco is here in the bed with him. The next moment he remembers Marco asking him will he be able to finish his confession tonight. His third thought is to wonder how in hell he’s supposed to make it until night time. The turnaround makes him almost dizzy with breathless happiness.

 

In a continued display of empathy, the Commander has assigned Jean to be the one to train with Marco to get him back up to fighting trim. Marco hasn’t forgotten his training, but he’s rusty, and he’s lost some muscle mass and is a little stiff with minor muscle atrophy he’s going to have to rebuild carefully. They go for a run after breakfast, falling in step with one another as easily as breathing after they’ve stretched a bit first. Marco’s just a little taller than Jean, but they’ve always matched strides this way, since the very first day of training. Jean doesn’t think it’d be smart to push Marco. He’d just pull a muscle and be set back even further. After the first mile, Marco calls a halt.

 

“Are you hurt? Is the pace too fast? We can slow down,” he says a little anxiously, because SEX tonight.

 

“I’m okay,” Marco assures him, bending at the waist and stretching one leg out to the side. “The…the scar tissue isn’t as…flexible. Makes me feel off-balance.”

 

Jean hasn’t spared very much thought for the thick, rubbery scars that mar his partner’s skin. From the very first day, Marco’s skin has made him think of the sweet, rich taste of coffee made with a generous amount of cream, sweetened with sugar and sprinkled with the rare and delicious cinnamon or nutmeg most people don’t often have access to. Rich and velvety, a soft tawny brown, his freckles making him even more appealing. Sometimes Jean used to fantasize about Marco’s freckles, wondering if they’re  everywhere,  and imagining playing connect-the-dots all over his skin. He knows now that Marco does indeed have freckles just about everywhere, sprinkled across his shoulders, speckling his arms and thighs, dusting the backs of his hands and a few on his tight ass and even a very few on his cock and balls. Jean likes to lick them and imagine Marco tastes like cinnamon and sugar.

 

But although Marco’s injuries have healed well, the evidence of them remains in plain sight. The right half of his body is splashed with scarring that looks rather as though he’s been badly burned. It isn’t discolored, but it is thick and knotted and sometimes he notices that Marco stops to massage his arm or hand or thigh where the scars pull against his muscles. Jean hasn’t commented on it, because he can tell Marco is self-conscious about them, especially the ones on his neck and face. He looks up at Jean from his bent position and grimaces ruefully when he sees Jean staring.

 

“Are you going to…to mind? Very much?” He asks hesitantly, gesturing awkwardly at his face.

 

“Mind?” parrots Jean in surprise. “ Mind? ”

 

“I know they’re ugly,” whispers Marco, looking away, his face reddening. Jean falls to his knees beside Marco and pushes his hands away from the tight knots of scarring on his thigh that has made him stop their run. He digs his thumbs in hard, massaging deeply. Marco makes a small sound, one that says that what Jean’s doing hurts but feels good too.

 

“They’re not,” he says fiercely.

 

“Pft,” scoffs Marco in disbelief.

 

“No. Stop. Sh-shut up. Marco…I like them. I  love  them. They…they mean you’re  alive…. that you came back. I…I dreamed about you. Almost every night. But I…I dreamed about you the way you were, you know?”

 

“Yeah,” says Marco bitterly. “When I wasn’t some kind of freak show.”

 

“That’s not…shit. I’m not good at this. See…the dreams….they were great, because when I dreamed, I got to have you back. But I always woke up, and you were gone again. You see? You’d feel…just like my dreams…if it weren’t for the scars. If you looked just the same…this would feel like one of my dreams. But…but because you have them, I KNOW you’re real, really here, not going to disappear when I open my eyes. Your scars…Marco, they’re beautiful.” He looks up at Marco earnestly, feeling stupid, because he’s being fucking cheesy as hell. “The doctors said massage would help break them up over time, give you back more flexibility. I didn’t want to make you feel weird, you know? But you’re not using the oil they gave you to use on them very often. I wanted to ask if you’d let me do it, but I didn’t want to…to upset you. Let me help you, okay? I like touching them. Proving to myself that you’re not a dream.”

 

Blushing, because he feels like a complete moron trying to explain how he feels about it. He growls softly at himself in frustration and just leans in and presses his lips to the uneven skin on the outside of Marco’s thigh, rolling his eyes up to look at Marco’s face, trying to gauge whether he’s going to be pushed away or laughed at.

 

“God,” whispers Marco, the sound of his voice going from awkward and unhappy to rough and breathless. “Do you have any idea what you look like, down there on your knees?”

 

“Yeah?” whispers Jean, and with a wicked leer, he licks his way up a long ropey line of scarring.

 

“If we weren’t less than a quarter of a mile from base and in the middle of an open field, I would make you take my cock out of my pants and use that mouth on me. Hold your head still and fuck your mouth, make you take it, come in your mouth and punish you if you don’t swallow every drop.”

 

“Mother fuck, ” whispers Jean fervently.

 

“Mm,” says Marco smugly. “Yeah. I’d like you to help me work on them. I’m good now; it’s loosened up a little. I’ll be able to run better now. Get up and stop being a tease, or we’ll find out how you’d like having Reiner and Berthold and Krista and Ymir come along and see you getting driven along this trail with a switch to the backs of your legs.”

 

“Jesus, Marco,” says Jean, scrambling to his feet and adjusting his cock, trying to make his suddenly urgent hard-on NOT tent the front of his pants like a horny pubescent little perv. “Where are you getting this shit?”

 

Marco ducks his head a little bashfully as they start to run again.

 

“If you hate it…” he begins uncertainly.

 

“HATE it?” says Jean incredulously. “If it turned me on any more, I’d be coming in my Goddamn trousers like, every time you open your fucking mouth!”

 

“Oh. Okay. That’s good then,” says Marco, looking pleased. “If it…if it ever weirds you out too much or turns you off, you can tell me, and we’ll do something else.”

 

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen, but okay.”

 

“I’m glad. Because…because it’s always been here, inside me.”

 

“Really? How did I not know this?”

 

“Oh. Well…I didn’t know how you’d take it, you know? We hadn’t been together for very long, and I didn’t want to scare you away. I like YOU more than I like the…the kinky stuff. So we don’t have to, if you aren’t into it.”

 

“Oh we have to,” disagrees Jean. “You back off the  kinky stuff  now and I will get Mikasa to kick your ass! You started this ride, and I damn sure want to find out where it goes.”

 

“How about we see if you still feel that way tonight after I’ve whipped your ass for you. I’ve decided it’ll be a switch. It’s not loud like a strap or paddle, so nobody will hear it from outside, if they walk by. If you forget to muffle the sounds you make in your pillow, it’ll be your own fault. Because Jean? You’re going to be howling before I’m done.”

 

Jean bites back a helpless whimper and trips over his own feet.

 


	6. It's this, just this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for why this took so long. They insisted on having their say, and had lost time to make up for. 
> 
> Marco and Jean's first time. 
> 
> Contains spanking, D/s themes, and consensual but slightly awkward first time sex

Somehow he does it. Tells Marco all the sordid details of the stupid, cruel, thoughtless, absurd, silly things he’s done to get himself into trouble since he had lost Marco that horrible day in Trost. As the last of the words spill haltingly from his lips, he buries his face in his pillow and grits his teeth against the tears that threaten, because the recital has brought some of that pain back, made him relive the loneliness along with the absurdity. He feels Marco’s fingers in his hair and sighs, and the grief recedes. He writhes a little and flops over onto his back, looking up at Marco’s scarred and exquisitely perfect face. Marco’s smile is crooked now, whereas it used to split his face wide with its open brilliance, his lips pulled off-center by the scars. Jean loves them, loves the wicked little slant it gives that wonderful smile. Marco kisses him then, softly at first, then with growing hunger. Jean moans into his mouth as the realization that they won’t have to stop tonight starts to set in. He arches his body against Marco’s, finds that both of them are hard.

“Marco!” he gasps. Marco chuckles softly.

 

“Did you cry every time?” he asks, and Jean whines.

 

“Mar-co!”

 

“Did you? When the Commander punished you?”

 

“Y-yeah,” admits Jean, blushing.

 

“Good. Jean?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I’d have been so miserable if it’d been the other way around. If I’d lost you instead. I understand that you felt so awful on the inside that it made you act awful on the outside too. But that’s why I’m gonna spank you now, okay? Because I don’t like it that you hurt people cause of me. You needed a better way to let it out, and I’m going to give you a hell of a good way to do that, Jean. The Commander wouldn’t have given you that, wouldn’t have helped you let it out. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you, Jean. Sorry you were in pain.”

 

“It’s…it wasn’t your fault,” says Jean awkwardly, remembering how angry he’d been on some of the worst nights, at Marco for leaving him.

 

“I’ll make it up to you, every day we’ve got left, as long as I live,” mutters Marco against his lips. “But I’m going to punish you for being a little shit.”

 

Jean laughs nervously.

 

“Come on,” he protests in a voice that only shakes a little. “That was just  talk  Marco! You…you’re not really gonna  spank  me!”

 

“Am I not?” asks Marco. He sounds awfully serious.

 

“Th-that’s crazy talk!”

 

“No,” says Marco, sliding his hand between them and pressing his palm against Jean’s erection, through his sleep pants.

 

“Ah!”

 

“I’m going to get off you,” says Marco calmly, as though he isn’t palming Jean’s dick, “and then this is what’s going to happen.”

 

Jean moans softly.

 

“You’re going to get up and go outside. There’s about a dozen willow trees out there, by the creek behind this cottage. You won’t have to get anywhere close to anyone else’s place. You’re going to take your knife, and you’re going to cut a couple of nice switches. They  better not be silly, useless ones either, Jean. Do you want to know what I’ll do if you try that?”

 

“Yes?” gasps Jean, rolling his hips while Marco’s hand presses against him softly. There’s not nearly enough pressure or friction, but it still feels  awesome.

 

“I’ll go out there myself and cut four, and I’ll use every one of them on your ass until they break.”

 

“You wouldn’t.”

 

“Test me,” says Marco calmly, “and see.”

 

Jean just lays there for several long seconds, staring up at Marco in disbelief. Marco meets his gaze and barely seems to blink.

 

“Marco…” says Jean uncomfortably.

 

“What’s the matter, Jean? Are you scared?”

 

When it comes to getting Jean to rise to the bait, Marco has had his number for a long time now. Incensed, Jean hurls himself from the bed and stomps out into the night. The grass is damp and cool on his bare feet, the night air balmy on his shirtless upper body. He can hear crickets and small frogs chirping by the creek. He goes to the first willow tree he finds and hacks almost blindly at a handful of its long, whippy branches. Once he’s severed them, he whirls and nearly stomps back to the cottage, through the door, and to the bed. In his absence, Marco has banked the fire and lit a single oil lamp, turning it down very low so that the room is cast in a very soft glow. He practically hurls his fistful of branches at Marco, who is sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for him. Marco raises an eyebrow and his lips quirk.

 

“You’re awfully good at digging your own hole deeper and deeper, aren’t you?” he says with a chuckle. Jean huffs out a breath and glares at him.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“These will do, babe…but if you’re going to be rude, I’ll use them all. How’d you like that, d’you think? Take them outside and strip the leaves off. Then bring me two of them like I asked, or you can have my belt on your bare ass first,” says Marco, sounding reasonable and matter-of-fact. It makes Jean shiver. He lets out his breath and gives up. This is, apparently, happening. Marco isn’t kidding. He’d have relented by now if he were. Almost meekly, Jean scoops up the switches and shuffles back outside. His imagination takes over as he strips the leaves and any bits of twig off of them.

 

What will it be like? He hasn’t been whipped with a switch since he was a kid, and can’t remember that much about it, except dancing around and screaming while his Da striped his bare bottom and legs with one. Marco’s not going to hit him THAT hard. Is he? He’s kidding when he says Jean’s gonna cry. Right? Right? Why is he going along with this? He knows Marco well enough to know that he’d drop the whole thing if Jean said he couldn’t go along with it, that it’s too weird, too awkward. He’s SAID so, that if it upsets Jean or doesn’t turn him on, they’ll drop it. Why doesn’t he just tell Marco this isn’t his thing and they can just get to the sex part and forget this shit. Carefully picking off a few sharp little buds, he feels his face turn red and he pauses, clenching the flimsy little twigs in his fists and groaning softly to himself. He’s not going to put a stop to it. Marco…his Marco…is sitting in there on their bed….THEIR bed…waiting for him. Marco is apparently a shockingly kinky fucker and, even more shocking, it kinda works for Jean. Besides, he’d give Marco anything, if he’s honest. Do anything he asked. Now feeling oddly shy, he edges back into the cabin with two stripped switches clutched tightly in his suddenly sweaty fist. Marco smiles at him, the same open, sunny, sweet smile he remembers, except for the scars. This person can’t be proposing to BEAT him, can he? Marco gently tugs the switches from Jean’s hand and then tugs him down to straddle his lap. Jean moans into Marco’s mouth and their teeth click. They make out hungrily, sloppily, inexpertly for a while, and when Marco rolls Jean off his lap, Jean doesn’t realize anything other than a change of position into the much more desirable horizontal is going on. He finds himself face-down and his belly clenches with nerves because he remembers suddenly that Marco’s going to be the one doing the fucking and he’s not sure he can handle it. Then the voice he’s loved for what seems like his whole life whispers huskily into his ears,

 

“Raise your hips,” he purrs. Jean obeys, and Marco shoves a pillow under him. There’s a sharp tug and his pants slide over his upthrust backside and down his thighs, leaving his naked ass exposed to the cool air of their bedroom. Jean’s naked cock ruts against the smooth fabric of the pillowcase and he gasps a little. His poor fevered brain is still focused on the impending loss of his virginity, so when something thin and a little scratchy strokes over his cheeks, it takes him a minute to realize what’s happening.

 

Actually, it takes him until Marco brings the switch down with a sharp snap across his bare bottom to remember what Marco’s promised him. It doesn’t hurt badly. Stings a bit, makes his gasp, but it’s only the surprise really. He’s had mosquito bites hurt worse than the tap Marco gives him with the switch,  but it yanks him out of his lust-addled state and abruptly back to reality with all those dire threats of the past few days and weeks ringing in his ears.

 

“Marco,” he cries, sounding a little frantic. Marco chuckles softly and goes back to tracing the switch up and down his ass and the backs of his legs.

 

“There’s something you need to get straight about me right now, Jean,” he says softly. “I’m easy to get along with. I’m so in love with you, Jean. I’d do anything for you. I can cut you a lot of slack when it comes to your smart mouth and your attitude because of that. And cause I’m not your daddy and I don’t want to be. I really don’t, because that’d make what I’m planning to do to you later just….really, really wrong. But one thing you better remember babe, is that I keep my word. Your mouth wrote a lot of checks your ass couldn’t cash while I was out, and what the Commander gave you for the ones he knew about didn’t come close to settling that score, and you know it. Because he didn’t make you feel better. I said I was going to do this, love, and I’m going to. Are you going to be good and let me, or are we going to have to fight about it?”

 

What? Thinks Jean in confusion. Fight about it? No way. Not when he’s this close to not being a virgin anymore. It can’t really be worse than what Smith handed out to him with his damned strap, and he’s not a coward. This is important to Marco for some reason.

 

“No,” he whispers. “I…I’m good.”

 

“You ready then?”

 

“Shit, Marco. I’ve got no idea, but if you’re waiting for me to be sure, we’re neither one of us gonna get laid tonight.”

 

“D’you know what a safeword is?”         

“Yeah, it’s what I say if I need you to stop. Red, right?”

 

“That’s right,” says Marco, beginning to tap the switch softy against Jean’s ass. “But you don’t get to use it just cause it hurts, okay? Only if something else is going on that I need to know about. You need this, Jean, and I need to give it to you. You get a leg cramp, or have trouble breathing, or anything like that, then of course you better stop me. But because it hurts and you don’t like it? That’s not for you to decide. I’ll stop when it’s enough, not before. Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” whispers Jean, his voice hoarse, nerves singing with anxiety.

 

“You ready now?”

 

“Oh…okay….y-yeah.” Jean sucks in a deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut. They fly open a few seconds later when Marco lands a real stinger across the middle of his ass. “Jesus  fuck, ” he yelps fervently. “Shit!” He can feel the line the switch has left on his ass, throbbing along with his pounding heart, burning like a knife’s cut. He writhes, considers reaching back to clap his hands over his ass to protect it from further attack. But he doesn’t want Marco to think he’s a sissy, or a coward, so he forces himself to be still, gripping a second pillow and hugging it tightly against his face, and nods once, shortly, to show he’s ready again. He yells into the pillow when another searing line appears as if by magic just below the first one. He doesn’t feel the switch’s impact as much as he feels its aftermath. And Marco does it again, and again.

 

It isn’t until after about the tenth stroke that Jean realizes he may be being a little overdramatic about things. The horrid switch is still laying down lines of heat across his helpless cheeks, but it’s just possibly true that it doesn’t hurt quite as much as he’d first thought it did. He’s not bleeding or anything. It was just shocking, that’s all. Marco is such a gentle person that even with all the deliciously wicked things he’d said about blistering Jean’s ass and making him cry, he hadn’t truly been able to imagine sweet, thoughtful Marco actually inflicting pain on him. If he’s honest with himself, he’s imagined a short game of slap and tickle followed by gentle but still incredibly hot sex. The fact that Marco’s whipping his bare bottom with a switch he made Jean pick out for himself hard enough to make him yell about it is just…mind blowing, a little. That’s all. It’s not killing him. It hurts. Oh hell yes it hurts. But the ferocity of it, the way Marco’s free hand firmly presses Jean’s leg down when he starts to kick a little, or grabs his wrist and forces it to the small of his back when he tries to cover his ass…it’s strangely hot. He feels…overwhelmed. Overpowered. And he likes it a shitton more than he’d have ever thought he would.

 

By somewhere around stroke 15, he’s still squirming, but the erection that had flagged when the switching had first started is back full force and his whimpers and soft groans are only partly from the bite and sting of it. Marco pauses and his fingers that feel cool in contrast to the blazing heat of Jean’s backside, glide over his punished flesh and down between his legs. Jean arches his back and lifts his hips hungrily as Marco strokes his balls and stiff, aching cock.

 

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Dirty boy.”

 

“Ahh,” cries Jean, pressing himself into the caress. “Marco, please!”

 

“Oh, you’re not done yet, babe,” laughs Marco softly, letting go of his cock and bringing the switch back to bear.

 

He’s hitting harder this time, really letting Jean have it. The burn builds and builds as now the switch crosses back over previous marks. Marco seems really determined now, and after a minute all Jean can do is grip his pillow and holler into it. He yowls at each new burning stripe, rocking his hips and keening softly into it between strokes. As the pain mounts, Jean’s defenses weaken, and the maelstrom of emotions he’s held in for all these months start to get away from him.

 

“Ohgod,” he gasps, “I’m…I’m sorry! Marco, I’m sorry! Pl…ah…please! Shit. Shit, hurts. God, it hurts. Please, please Marco…I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” And suddenly he bursts into tears, part of him hating the naked vulnerability of it, and part of him not caring at all. He sobs, and the switch descends once, twice, then three more times. Then, as he cries and repeats his litany of pleas and apologies, Marco drops the switch on the floor. His hand rests on Jean’s red, welted bottom for a moment and then Jean howls raggedly as Marco starts to spank him with his hand. The strokes aren’t too hard, but they don’t have to be, as sore as he is. Peppering his cheeks and legs with sharp, stinging blows, Marco starts to talk to him.

 

“You’ve been such a bad boy, Jean,” he purrs softly. The slap of his open palm on Jean’s welted ass makes him feel like his skin’s been boiled. “Never have been any good at keeping your smartass mouth shut. You hurt some people’s feelings because you were hurting inside too.”

 

“I’m sorry,” wails Jean, and he is. Because Marco speaks nothing but the truth. He’s been an asshole, often to people who want to be his friends. Marco’s hand falls again, but this time only on one cheek. His fingers graze the crack between, drifting inside.

 

“Shh,” murmurs Marco. “It’s all past. I came back, and I’m not leaving again. Let go of it, Jean.”

Another spank, and this time Jean definitely feels Marco’s fingertips brush the sensitive pucker of his asshole. His breath hitches in his chest and he moans pitifully. The next spank is softer, and Jean’s sobs soften too. Marco slaps the backs of his legs and those busy fingers softly tickle his balls. Two spanks to his blazing red cheeks and then Marco’s finger presses softly against his hole. Jean writhes, tears rolling down his cheeks, lifting his hips in supplication and shivering at the feel of it. A swift flurry of careful stings brings forth another spate of tears and then Marco is lying down beside him, putting his arms around Jean and murmuring nonsense into his ear about how good and brave he’s been and how sorry Marco is for leaving him all alone and how he’s forgiven. Jean turns into the embrace and cries as though his heart is breaking. What’s really happening is that his heart is healing, but sometimes you have to tear a thing down before it can be rebuilt. Marco’s arms hold him safe and close, while Jean buries his face against his lover’s neck and cries until he has no tears left. To his surprise, he finds that Marco was right about this. The whippings he’d gotten from Smith hadn’t made him feel like this at all. Just embarrassed and ridiculous and sorry he’d gotten caught. Now Jean feels like he’s had all the bad shit scoured out of him the way they scour the cannons out on the walls after they’ve been used several times, getting rid of the dirt. He huffs out a rueful laugh and tells Marco so when he’s asked.

 

“You feel better huh?” asks Marco, sounding pleased and a little shy.

 

“Yeah,” says Jean, his voice muffled. “Th-thanks.”

 

“Yeah well, don’t think that’s the last time,” says Marco smugly. “You’re gonna earn it again, and probably soon. Plus I…I really liked it.” Marco arches against him and Jean gasps a little when he feels how thick and hard Marco’s dick is against his thigh. He arches back and moans softly when their erections bump and then rub together.

 

“God,” whispers Jean.

 

“I want to be with you,” whispers Marco. “I want to make love to you, Jean. Be inside you. Will you let me?”

 

“Oh please,” says Jean breathlessly. “Now, Marco. I…I want you so bad.”

 

And then they are kissing again and Jean can’t speak anymore, but can make small, eager noises into Marco’s mouth and can cry out softly when Marco sucks on his bottom lip and nips it sharply.

 

He pants and whines at the delay when Marco pulls back and they tug and yank at each other’s clothes, nearly tearing them in their enthusiasm for getting each other naked. And oh…oh it feels so great to rub all of their skins together, warm and perfect. Marco tugs Jean’s leg over his hip and reaches over him for a little glass vial on the bedside table. He snags it and unscrews the cap. Inside there’s a slippery substance that smells a little like the forest does, sharp and green and cedary. Jean’s body jerks and shudders when Marco’s slippery fingers reach behind him and glide between his spanked cheeks. One finger swirls around his tight pucker. His breath explodes from his chest when that finger gently pushes inside him. It’s terribly strange at first, like nothing he’s ever felt before, and he can’t decide if he likes it or not. Then Marco pushes him gently back over on his belly and the finger enters him more deeply and it brushes against some hidden spot inside his body and it is like completing a circuit. He throws his head back and stiffens and he shouts at the way it feels, so damn good. How is it possible a place like that had been hidden inside him?

 

“Marco!” he cries, digging his fingers into the bedding.

 

“There?” whispers Marco, doing it again, rubbing and pressing softly against that perfect, exquisite, agonizing spot. “Right there, baby?”

 

“Oh God,” he howls, throwing his head back.

 

“Wow,” whispers Marco in awe. “Someone told me once about this but I didn’t really believe it. Feels that good, huh?”

 

“If you stop, I’m going to kill you,” groans Jean. Marco leans his cheek on Jean’s back and huffs softly.

 

“Calling the shots now, huh?”

 

“Ngh!  Please, ” gasps Jean. Marco’s fingertip crooks inside him, just rubbing softly and Jean sees stars. After another minute, Marco starts moving his finger in and out again, brushing that one perfect place with every slow thrust. Jean’s hips rock, lifting to meet Marco’s hand.

 

“Does it hurt?” asks Marco. Jean lifts his head and looks over his shoulder at Marco incredulously.

 

“Christ, Marco!  No, ” he says fervently.

 

“Okay. I’m gonna add a second finger,” says Marco solemnly. Jean doesn’t care if he adds a marching band as long as he keeps touching him there.

 

Marco slicks two fingers now, and carefully presses them inside. It doesn’t hurt either. Jean moans and bites his lips, rocking some more, the pillow under his hips soft against his aching cock. Marco’s fingers work him for what feels like hours. Every time Jean begins to stop and think about the fact that he’s got his FINGERS in Jean’s ASS and why they’re there, Marco presses gently against the secret little knot of nerve endings that makes his toes curl and makes him completely forget to overthink things. Or think at all, except for Yes, and More.

 

He hisses through his teeth after Marco softly informs him he’s adding the third finger and it burns and stings a bit when he does. Marco  goes very still.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah,” says Jean hoarsely, “It’s…fine. Just…go slow?”

 

“Of course,” says Marco gently, and he does. Infinitessimally slow. Agonizingly. The burn eases, although the stretch of it is still a little shocking. Then he gets used to that too, and Marco’s painstaking care isn’t enough. He feels like he’s been waiting for this forever, and he can’t stand it anymore, plus oh…oh THERE…Marco’s fingertips touch that fucking place inside him and he moans pitifully, lifting his ass and keening softly.

 

“Marco please,” he whispers hoarsely. “Please, I can’t wait anymore. I’m ready. Oh do it, please…now, just…just NOW, Marco…”

 

“Jean,” says Marco breathlessly, “are you sure? I’ll do this as long as you need, as long as you want, because I…once I start, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to stop. I mean…if you use your safeword, of  course  I will…but other than that…Jean, d’you understand what I’m saying?”

 

Jean thinks he does, and it hits him like a fist in his gut, takes his breath away and makes him writhe. Marco’s saying that even if it hurts, he won’t stop. That he’s going to fuck Jean and he can whine and ask him to stop if it hurts but Marco won’t and that thought makes Jean’s cock pulse against the softness of the pillow and he moans again, helplessly, because he can’t seem to make his mouth form words. He’s been telling himself for so long that it would be him where Marco is, has led everyone to believe that’s how it’s been, and if he’s honest, he’s imagined it that way. A voice, rough and raw with pain and need, whimpering, pleading that it hurts, it hurts…then crying out as a thick cock is forced in anyway…but then if he’s REALLY honest, when he’s dreamed of it, imagined it, reached into his shorts at night in the dark and taken himself in hand, panting and fisting his erection furiously…if he stops kidding himself and tells the truth, it is his voice begging and it is Marco’s that whispers back, “I love you, baby, I know it hurts, take it for me, there’s my good boy, hush now…”

 

Tears well up in his eyes which are equal parts desire and abject terror. He doesn’t know if he can take it, he really doesn’t, but at the same time he has never wanted anything so badly in his entire life.

 

“Yes,” he sobs. “Yes, I know. Marco…I’m scared. I am. But I want you to.”

 

Marco groans softly and he rolls a little until his weight is on top of Jean, pressing him down into the mattress and he can barely breathe. Marco’s hand reaches down between them and his weight shifts, then Jean feels the wide, blunt head of Marco’s…oh God…it snugs up against his slicked, softened hole, and Jean can feel its thickness slide between his cheeks. Marco has put more of the slippery stuff on his cock. Slowly, he leans. Lets his weight gradually settle against Jean, in his hips, and his cock starts to force Jean’s asshole to give way, to open. It had felt like three of Marco’s fingers had stretched him so wide this’d be easy, but it’s not. Oh, it’s not. It’s thicker, harder, just MORE. Jean whimpers, feels his body clench to try to keep out the invader, denying that this thing is possible.

 

“Jean,” says Marco hoarsely. “I need you to listen to me right now and I need you to obey me. Baby, I’ve never done this before, and I don’t want to hurt you too much. You have to relax. Breathe, and let your body relax. We’ll figure this out as we go. Together, okay?”

 

Marco sounds like he’s in pain too, and after everything he…no. That’s just not okay. Jean sucks in a great, shuddering breath and as he lets it out, he forces his body to let go of its tension. The way he knows how to relax and fly, to let his gear support him so that he doesn’t fight it. That hurts too, the tight straps rubbing raw, the hard stop at the end of a long, sweeping fall digging the harness into his body. They all wear bruises all the time, badges of honor. He can do this.

He lets out a short, pained cry when the head of Marco’s cock seems to pop through the clenching ring of muscle inside him. There’s a bright, hot stab of pain that makes him struggle for just a moment, but then Marco gently sets his teeth against the back of Jean’s neck and bites down. He moans thickly and Marco gently pushes all the way inside him in a long, slow glide. He goes very still then, resting against Jean, breathing heavily. Jean whimpers and can’t stop a little squirm. He’s not trying to get away, not exactly, but oh GOD, he’s going to burst. When he squirms, Marco’s body shifts, and the head of his cock shifts too, and comes to rest pressing against the same spot his fingers had found earlier and Jean cries out again, clawing at the bedclothes.

 

“What? What’s wrong? Am I hurting you too much?” asks Marco worriedly.

 

“Ohgod, Ohfuck, shit,” pants Jean. “No. No…do that again.”

 

“What?” asks Marco, lost for a moment. He shifts again and Jean moans like a two-bit whore. “Oh  that ,” says Marco. Then he does it again on purpose.

 

All of a sudden, it’s not too much anymore. The clenched, quivering rim of his hole around Marco’s cock aches just enough, the thickness inside him fills him up until he’s emptied of all thought except that it’s Marco doing this, Marco, who was dead, inside him. Owning him. The press against his sweet spot makes his toes curl against the sheet, makes him arch back against Marco because dear fucking Christ does the man not need to be moving now?

 

“Marco,” he moans, gasping. “Oh. Oh, Marco.”

 

“Hm?” asks Marco softly against his ear.

 

“Fucking Christ Marco, if you don’t start fucking me now I’m going to die right here and now with your damn prick up my ass and YOU get to explain that to the fucking commander.”

 

“You have a filthy mouth, Jean,” says Marco pleasantly, pulling back a little. “Has anyone ever told you that?” Then he rocks his hips back slowly and SHOVES his cock back inside. Jean howls and bucks.

 

“Oh God.”

 

He forgets how to speak after that, and can only moan and writhe and gasp for breath and occasionally howl and sob in mindless, blinding pleasure as Marco slowly, carefully, and with great determination, fucks him into the mattress. It aches. It’s fucking perfect. Jean bucks against it again, harder, and Marco’s hand comes down hard on his ass. He whines, and Marco laughs and jabs sharply with his hips, which makes Jean howl again and then he’s laughing too because it’s lovely and ridiculous and so much bigger and crazier and overwhelming than he’d ever dreamed. They rock, locked together, laughing and then crying a little too because it’s perfect, and then Jean realizes that he’s about to lose it, feels his balls draw tight and he cries Marco’s name and Marco’s hands slide over his, their fingers tangling together, gripping tight.

 

“Oh. Oh…Marco, now, please, I’m…oh god…”

 

“Fuck,” pants Marco in his ear, fucking into him a little harder. “Jean…oh hurry, you feel so damn good…I can’t….can’t hold out. Please, please come.”

 

Jean jams his fist under his hips, into the pillow still cradling them, and wraps his hand around his cock like a flash, squeezing hard once, twice, and then shouting and shuddering as his vision tunnels to gray and pleasure swamps him. He feels every tiny twitch and clench of his own asshole around Marco’s cock and Marco does too, because his gasps lose their pattern and his hips stutter and Jean’s name on his lips is perfect. This, he knows as he floats softly and sleepily in the aftermath, this was all he really needed, all along.

 


End file.
